


Atlas Hands

by monitgirl (Loliyta)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:12:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4624872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loliyta/pseuds/monitgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's been gone a long time, and while she can walk on her own shaky two feet, it's always nice to have a hand to hold, both figuratively and literally - or, Ginny runs into the least likely person while running away from herself. Luna/Ginny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atlas Hands

**Author's Note:**

> First published on fanfiction.net in January 2014. Gift fic.

It's been a long, long time. You're in a new city, a new country. A new home. Everything about you screams your longing to go home, but you know you can't. You have to face a broken family and a broken world, and too many strings have snapped for the violin to work.

Austria is a nice place.

You've been here for a little over three years, in the same flat you rented as a disorientated nineteen year old. Your brothers - well, Charlie's come to see you, hasn't he? He comes every year. He knows what it's like to be a foreigner. The other ones write, occasionally, and you wonder just how it has come to this. Such a close knit family, barely even talking. Ron's married, and so is Bill and George and Percy, and you went to all of their weddings.

The only wedding you didn't attend was your own. You ran, far, far away. Such Gryffindor courage.

You were scared. You know that now. A terrified little girl playing dress-up in a wedding gown. You were not ready. He was. He was ready to jump in headfirst.

The same reluctance still lingers in you. You have no friends at work, now, even if you're still as sociable and fiery as ever, and something has changed. You can feel it. At school, when you were so foolishly young (now, you can't even remember what it was like to be so young) you always needed to be around people. To talk, to laugh, to play. It was a basic need for you - growing up in such a large family, it was a necessity.

The only person who has ever stepped inside this flat in three years is your parents, Charlie, and yourself. You can't help but think you probably wouldn't be here if you said maybe later instead of yes when he got down on one knee.

That was forever. It was commitment, and what did any nineteen year old girl know about commitment? Your whole life was full of plot twists and turns. War had forced you to grow up much too quickly.

You dust the table. You'd never been one for cleaning, but this was a Muggle flat, and anyway, you didn't use magic as much as you used to. Cleaning the Muggle way - well, you could do that mindlessly.

Sighing, you leaned back against the table. It is late, the cobblestone streets are empty. Nearly one in the morning, and you have to work tomorrow morning.

Putting your wand on your bedside table, you change into your pyjamas and slip into the covers.

/

Mornings in Vienna were much different than the mornings in the Burrow. The sun hits your stained glass lamp - a gift from Charlie - the same way every morning. There was the quiet you have grown so accustomed to. No bacon fumes, no eager rushing to get the last bit of food.

It felt normal back then. Just now you're beginning to realize how rowdy you and your brothers actually were.

You work at a wizarding liaison office in Vienna, interacting mostly with international witches and wizards. You have a very basic hold on German, but it's only the basics, so you mostly communicate in English.

Your desk is neat, tidy, and Percy-like. (You almost laugh at the thought of using your elder brothers' name for an adjective. Almost.)

If someone saw you now, they would do a double take. You know this - you do a double take every time you look in a mirror. Every morning, when your brushing out your hair and winding it into a bun on the top of your head, when you're getting dressed in those black office robes, the only decals being an emblem.

Ginny Weasley - vibrant, outgoing, Gryffindor, loud. Those descriptions seemed to only describe a single part in your life. A section where you feared the worst. But back then, it seemed as though that was a puzzle piece that didn't fit - impending doom that felt like it was never going to actually happen.

It did happen, though.

And you were only sixteen, almost seventeen. Still a girl - despite what your mother said, deep down, you were.

Barbara, a forty-something mother of three, works with you. She's born and raised in Vienna, you've learned, and looks down upon the English, which happens to include Ginny. Her English is as poor as your German, and tension runs very high very often when the two of you have trouble communicating.  
"Papers," she says, and thrusts a stack into your hands.

You sigh, and begin to work your way into the stack. The lack of sleep from the previous night is beginning to get to you, and you're absentmindedly doodling a snitch on one of the forms (oops) when Barbara approaches your desk and scowls down at you.

"English person need you in front," she says thickly.

You stand up and drop your quill, rolling the kinks out of your shoulders and slip into the front.

You recognize the girl - no, woman, you correct yourself - immediately. How could you, anyone, forget her?

"Ginny," says Luna. "It's wonderful to see you. How is Arnold doing?"

It takes you a while to register that she's here, and who's… oh. Right.

"Arnold's long gone. Brilliant to see you here, Luna. Is there anything you need?" You immediately frown after you have spoken. Your tone comes out clipped, and you want to take it back. It's surreal, you think, and also a bit strange - like trying to put on two different robes at the same time.

Luna smiles, and if she notices your tone, she doesn't say anything. "Daddy and I are researching," she says lightly, rocking back and forth on her heels. You notice she still wears the radish earrings, and her hair is longer and scraggly than ever, just past her waist. "and we were looking for a potions place. Do you happen to know of one?"

You blink, and if your hair was down, you would have run your fingers through it. Potions. Right. There's that one place…

"The next street down," you say, "and turn left. Number 2343. If you knock, and say amorentia, Fritz should let you in. He's the son," you instruct.

"Thank you, Ginny," says Luna, and clasps her hands behind her back while still rocking back and forth. She doesn't move, however. She seems as though she is staring above your head, instead of at your face, and a small smile graces her face.

You're not sure when she says it, but you only register the words after she's left the help area.

"You shouldn't hold onto your emotions, Ginny."

/

The rest of the day passes slower than usual. You draw a few more golden snitches, before Barbara snatches away the paper and mutters an insult in German to you.

Three years you have been here, and only today was the day you've seen someone outside of your family from home.

You can't help but think it odd - the whole experience. What was Luna looking for in Austria, anyway? It was two worlds, crashing and colliding. The world you have built from the ground up here, and the smashed ruins you left behind back home. You didn't want to leave behind another ruin. You've had enough crumbling castles for a lifetime, thank you very much.

Luna hadn't aged a day, you had noticed. You tap your foot restlessly and glare at the clock, which seems to be mocking you, moving slower and slower. Barbara got off an hour ago, and with the swish of a black robe and a brief smell of cheap, flowery perfume, she left, leaving you alone. On a usual day, you would have around six witches or wizards (some of a questionable nature) stop by the Austrian wizarding liaison office a day. Luna was the only one today.

You breathe in relief when the clock strikes five, and quickly you slip back on the shoes you kicked off earlier and quickly cast the alarm charm, like you do every night. Repeatedly.

Your eyes are downcast when you leave through the secret back entrance - unnoticeable to Muggles, obviously - so you don't see her at first. The wind whips the hem of the Muggle t-shirt you wear - you always wear Muggle clothing underneath your robes - and you shiver slightly. The air is crisp, and you would like to get home, eat, and repeat.

"Ginny," Luna says. The first thing you notice are her clothes - dark blue corduroy jeans tucked into boots, and some sort of frayed, multicoloured jumper. You wonder how she isn't cold - and how did she get here?

"Luna, hello," you say, pausing your step.

"Thank you," she says. "Fritz was lovely, really. Daddy will be happy with the results."

"How did you know where I was?" The question comes out before you can even stop yourself from saying it. You're curious, really.

"You're here every day," says Luna simply, like the answer was just that - simple. You don't know how she knows - but maybe she didn't need to see you to know. She can see it in your eyes, in your face, in the way you move. You were everything you thought you would never be. Boring, predictable. Bored. "You look very tired, Ginny. Are you getting much sleep?"

The question throws you off guard. You're silent for a moment before replying. "No, not particularly."

"Daddy and I are sure we've found what we're looking for. The Gernumblies! Native to this area," said Luna brightly. The wind whips again, and a shiver runs through you.

"That's lovely, Luna," you say, "congratulations. I should really be getting back to my flat, however, I'm quite cold…"

"Daddy is meeting a friend. You might want to watch out for the Gernumblies. There's lots of them around this area, I'm quite surprised." The words sound almost funny coming out of her mouth -probably because you haven't heard her speak for so long. Three years, well over, you remind yourself. But there's a small smile on her face, and she's still rocking back and forth on her heels slightly.

You reflect on just how odd this day has been. In the course of less than twelve hours…

"It was nice seeing you, Luna. Cheers. Give my love to Neville and Hannah," you say, because you do feel guilty you haven't kept in touch with them. They did a lot for you, after the war. Your own family was just too much to handle, and the air of the Burrow was so heavy it was suffocating you, so they were something like a weight lifted off of your shoulders. Neville was a great friend, especially through your last year back. Although he didn't return to Hogwarts, he visited you in Hogsmeade. Hannah and you became fast friends - it was lonely, really, with all of the older students (except for a bare minimum) declining to return to Hogwarts.

"There's quite a lot on the pavement," she says lightly, holding her hands behind her back.

You start to walk, and give her a small smile. As much as the guilt was eating you up again, you just wanted to go home. Maybe you would write to her and Neville and Hannah. You want to think this through, because the last three years in this country have gone by like a colourless blur, and just for a second, a flash of yellow coursed through your vision and your eyes have to adjust to the change. Change, change, change. It's a word you'll never get used to.

She's by your side, and you're both walking in sync.

"They're unavoidable," she says, her voice keeping that same light tone. "They like people, you know. Especially girls."

"Do they?" you ask, and you bite your lip as you sense the sarcasm leaking from your voice. You hadn't intended it to come out like that. Really. You continue to walk, and the exercise warms your muscles. You aren't shivering any more.

Luna walks with you, now. You're unsure how to communicate with her any more - like your first year at Hogwarts all over again, a scared little firstie who can't talk to anyone. You used to be fiery, outgoing, loud…

You stop that track of thoughts before you begin to brood.

You're almost at your flat when Luna speaks again. Her voice is wispy, always has been, like she'll blow away with the wind, scatter with the breeze.

"Are you lonely, Ginny? You seem very lonely. They're all crowding you. The Gernumblies, that is."

You know that if the question came from anyone else, you would feel like they were talking down to you. But with her, it's simply an inquiry.

You laugh. It is a foreign, unfamiliar sound, and it sounds almost gravelly. "'Course not, Luna," you say. You can feel something stirring in you - something repressed. You've been wound so tight for so long the laughter that bubbled in your throat almost unhinges you. And all over one question by one particular person, too. You don't know why you're laughing - and at that question in particular, too. Maybe because it's such an obvious one.

"The time you feel lonely is the time you need to be by yourself," says Luna. "Irony, really."

You don't say anything, but think over her words as the two of you walk towards your flat. Maybe it was true - there's a part of you that yearns, wants somebody else, only one more person, but there's another part of you, that even after all of these years, needs to be by yourself. Other people have supported you and lifted you your entire life, and here, here, it's like you're an infant learning to walk on your own shaky legs. But you could always use a hand to hold, too - both figuratively and literally.

Your flat is approaching quickly, and you're looking at Luna.

She looks at you, too, and neither of you walk forward.

"Daddy says we might be in Austria for a while," she says, and there's something about the way she looks at you straight in the eyes, with her hair fluttering over her shoulders, that speaks something directly to you. There's something that's caught in her voice that you've never noticed before - something of promises and hope and a little bit of loneliness, too. You remember what she said once, all those years ago in Hogwarts - "I enjoyed the meetings, too. It was almost like having friends."

You don't say anything, but you smile slightly.

"For good luck," Luna says, and unclips a bracelet strung with rope and oddly-shaped beads. She holds your wrist in her hands, and the feeling that started when you were laughing continues - the feeling that your knot is unravelling, the strings are coming apart. There's colour, some colour, and you wonder if it's always been like this, if it would have taken so little for you to erase the shades of grey in your life - or maybe it was just her who could do this. Her touch is featherlight, and despite only lingering for a few long seconds, you could swear it was much, much longer because you can still feel something tingling through your skin even now.

The bracelet is clipped around your wrist, a stark contrast to your black work robes. It clashes with your fiery hair, but you find for the first time since you were young you don't really mind.

"For good luck," you say, but it's barely a whisper, and Luna's disappeared into the crowd already.


End file.
